


Body Language

by syntheticaesthetic



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: ASL, Deaf, Gen, Sign Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-31
Updated: 2013-08-31
Packaged: 2017-12-25 05:57:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/949447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syntheticaesthetic/pseuds/syntheticaesthetic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One-shot story for the USS Caryl 2nd Fanfiction/Fanart Challenge Prompt. Out of four prompts I chose the "class in is session" prompt, in honor of "back to school." Carol is yet again forced to break down the walls of Daryl's communication barriers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Body Language

            Carol Peletier had always loved children.

            She had graduated high school with the knowledge that whatever her next step was she wanted it to include children. She had briefly entertained the possibility of continuing onto medical school and becoming a pediatrician, but a lack of money however quickly convinced her to move onto her second choice, teaching. While she didn’t have the money to continue her schooling, her neighborhood elementary school was in dire need of teaching assistants, and any volunteer would be sorely needed.

            Three days a week, Carol volunteered in a third grade classroom. For the first time in her life she felt completely fulfilled. Watching the children’s precious faces as they lit up with the understanding of a new concept or the enraptured adoration in their gazes as she read to them made her feel that she was finally following God’s path for her. Her patience was her saving grace in this work, and within the year she’d been moved from the third grade classroom to the special education room, where her temperment was just what the doctor ordered.  During her time in the special ED room, she learned a lot about a great variety of difficulties. She worked with children with learning developments, children with emotional difficulties, abused children, children with autism, and more.

             But, there was one little boy named Nathan, whom Carol became close to in particular. He and his sister Jessica were deaf. While Jessica had a better grasp of written English then her younger brother, the two communicated mainly with sign language. Carol had often watched them communicate through the corner of her eye, impressed with the physicality of the duo. Their expressive faces flushed with delight as they conversed, and their tiny hands were a blur to her. Even Nathan’s small digits were ten times more dexterous than Carol’s larger ones, and moved with a grace Carol could only envy. 

            When his sister moved on to middle school, little Nathan was left on his own, and near instantly attached himself to Carol. At first the two couldn’t understand each other, and Nathan settled for just clinging to Carol as she went about her day helping the other students. As time wore on, he began pointing at things and moving his hands and face in a specific way. That was how Carol ended up learning the signs for “cookie”, “pencil” “paper”, and the various colors of the rainbow. Years later, when Nathan was probably long grown (and God forbid, long dead), Carol would be immensely surprised when the knowledge that Nathan had imparted to her would need to be passed on to a grown man.

            It had started with a pain in his head, near his ears. He had waved off her concerns as he always had, and continued with life as usual. The next morning, he was lain up in bed, the pain was so bad. By about mid-morning, Daryl Dixon’s hearing had gone. Hershel hoped it was temporary, mentioning that extreme cases of ear infections could have that effect on people, and that all he needed was antibiotics. A week went by, and Daryl spent it mostly in bed. He attempted, now and again, to get up and wander the prison to find something useful to do indoors that didn’t cause as much pain as hunting did.  These attempts usually ended in a half-hearted attempt to curse, some very mumbled shouting, and the throwing of whatever was nearest to him.

            Daryl Dixon was a baby when he got sick.

            As the week wore out, Carol started to grow more concerned. Despite the number of places they had looked, they had not come up with any suitable antibiotics for Daryl. While his fever had died down considerably, and the nausea had subsided a bit, he still felt the discomfort in his ears, and was unable to discern much of anything with them. If they went any longer without the medication for him, his hearing loss could be permanent. Carol wondered just how he’d react to the permanence of his new state.

            Merle was being merciless about it, taunting and teasing his little brother in all the ways he could that took advantage of him. Daryl’s anger at Rick grew by the minute since the former sheriff had forbade him to join Merle in the morning for hunting – or anything else for that matter – during his recovery. Sullen and moody, he had stopped dragging himself from his cell for dinner with the others, and had in fact stopped leaving his cell at all, only furthering his own isolation. Carol knew that he was feeling frustrated and useless. Daryl was a man that took pride in his ability to provide for his own. Without a way to feel useful, he was without his self-esteem.

            Oh yes, she understood what he was feeling very well. But, she found it difficult to try and understand _why_ he was feeling that way at first. How many times had he muttered under his breath in her vicinity that he wished he didn’t have to listen to them all jibber-jabber all day? By all rights the old Daryl should be content with this turn of events.

            But that was just it, wasn’t it? It wasn’t the old Daryl in this situation – it was the new Daryl, and the new Daryl felt the sting of isolation quite keenly. This group had seemingly been the first to truly value Daryl as an individual, and to give his thoughts and options a validity they’d never had before. While he may not be a chatterbox, the new Daryl seemed wounded by his inability to communicate.

            And that was how they’d ended up where they were currently. She had dragged him into the library for a change of scene and sat him down at the table. While she had brought pen and paper with them and set them upon the table, she knew the best approach was to follow Nathan’s theory, and teach by example. Smiling gently at him, she pointed at him, raising her eyebrows, before tapping the first two fingers of her hands together. _YOU NAME?_

He looked at her blankly.

            _D-A-R-Y-L,_ she spelled for him slowly. His eyes narrowed in response. Raising her eyebrows again, she pointed to herself, tapping her fingers together before spelling again. _MY NAME_ _C-A-R-O-L._

Running a rough hand against his stubble, Daryl directed his attention elsewhere, looking from the stacks of books, to the soft grains of wood that made up the table, and even his own shoes. Shaking her head, she placed her hand upon his and tapped his wrist. He looked at her and scowled, causing her to sigh in response. She was glad that she hadn’t gotten any less patient in her old age – she’d need it in dealing with him.

            Picking up the piece of paper, she made an exaggerated show of displaying it to him. While Vana White she was not, she succeeded in eliciting a twitch of amusement from him. Putting it down, she brushed her right palm back against her left twice. “Paper,” She mouthed.

            No response.

            “You’re going to be difficult about this, aren’t you?” She asked him, smiling. He raised his eyebrows at her. “Well, you’ve got that part right.” Grabbing his arms, which he immediately let hang limply at his side, she moved his limbs to copy her earlier motion. “Paper,” she mouthed again.

            He nodded.

            “Well, go on then!” She waited as he took a moment to stare at her. She tapped the paper. His gaze went from her to it and back again. Finally, slowly, he brought his palm to the other and tapped it twice, giving into her.

            Carol beamed at him.

            The next ten minutes were spent patiently demonstrating the signs for the other objects around them. Chair, table, book, pencil, shirt, shoes, hair, eyes; the same understanding that used to adorn the faces of the children she taught grudgingly shone through Daryl’s expressions as he regained the ability to communicate with her. Colors proved difficult to explain; at first he thought that she was teaching him the different signs for the objects, rather than trying to convey their colors. She had to emphasize the difference in their shirts for him to understand that his shirt was blue (as indicated by a movement near the side of his skull), while hers was red (indicated by the movement of a finger near the chin).

            Grabbing the pen and paper next, she quickly wrote out the numbers one through ten. His impatience reached a peak when she tried to correct the way he displayed the number three. The way he did it – as well as most every one else in the world – it actually meant the letter “w” instead. Every time he would show her “w”, she would grab his hand and force him into the proper arrangement which included his thumb rather than his ring finger.

            His reward for finally disregarding some thirty odd years of habit, was the first six letters of the alphabet written on paper to indicate their change in topic. His intent expression as she demonstrated _A, B, C, D, E, F, G,_ and so forth as carefully as she could warmed her.  For the first time since he’d felt the pain in his skull he seemed alert and engaged. He even leaned forward ever so slightly towards her. As she helped correct his clumsy fingers into the proper shapes once again, she lamented the fact that she had never learned more than basic signs. She knew only the bare basics of what she needed to convey to a young Nathan in the most elementary manner. She would not be able to teach Daryl to converse in sign, but at least the knowledge that she did impart into him could be used to communicate in a faster manner without the use of pen and paper, and lessen his frustration.

            Brushing her thumb against the knuckles of his hand gently, Carol realized that even if they were unlucky enough to not come across the antibiotics, the change in Daryl’s abilities would be of little consequence after the others followed their lead and adjusted accordingly. After all, they had all at one point or another needed to acquire the proper knowledge of how to communicate with him before; thanks to her efforts they could do so again. 


End file.
